The First of Many
by ktfranceebee
Summary: Kurt goes back to Ohio to reevaluate his life and is shocked to discover that his ex-fiancé is dating none other than Dave Karofsky. Kurt begins to realize that Blaine's intentions may be a little less than friendly, and attempts to understand what exactly it is his heart wants, as he begins to mend the nonexistent friendship he long ago promised Dave. Based on Season 6 spoilers.
1. Prequel

**Disclaimers: **

This story is based very,_ very_ loosely on the season six spoilers regarding the Kurt/Blaine/Dave love triangle. That being said this story _will_ feature a small amount of Blainofsky; however, this story is _not_ Blaine or Klaine friendly.

This fic (specifically this prequel) was originally meant to be a simple ficlet supplementing a gifset I created for kurtofskythings' _Kurtofsky Halloween 2014 _on tumblr. It sort of blew up when I decided I wanted to expound upon this idea, attempting to write an entire story where each chapter is inspired by a single prompt for the different days of the event.

Also this fic will feature an original poem I created just for this story, presented in a manner I hope you all will enjoy.

The following prequel is based on _Day 3: Butterscotch and Accusations_

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><p><strong>The First of Many<strong>

_Prequel_

The room in which Dave sat was almost as dim as it was silent, illuminated only by the warm, dingy glow from the lamp next to his favorite armchair. Though he referred to it as his favorite armchair it was more often than not, ironically enough, occupied by his boyfriend rather than himself. However, being that he was alone in his apartment for the last several hours meant that it was his for the taking. Being able to occupy the most comfortable piece of furniture (not counting the queen size, pillow top bed, of course) should have left him feeling pleased, if not victorious, but it merely left him feeling as empty as the room in which he sat.

Dave pressed his fingers against his eyes, which he screwed shut, not sure whether it was to calm his nerves, prevent the all too inevitable tears that were prickling at the corners, or ingrain in his mind the vision that was his boyfriend curling up in the chair on lazy weekend mornings. How his manicured toenails would peek out from where his legs were tucked underneath him as he read the newest issue of _Vogue, _wearing the over-sized pair of pajama pants that he frequently stole from Dave.

He would miss seeing him like that.

Dave turned his head toward the lamp and toyed with one of the coasters from the set he received from his boyfriend, which, when put together, featured the map of New York: the place they now called home. Kurt gave them to him on his birthday after far too many admonishments about how water rings would be the death of his wood furniture. Not that it mattered. The end table and coffee table were already tarnished having been purchased for cheap at a thrift store a couple blocks away earlier that year. At this time in their lives, it wasn't like they could afford much better.

Dave set the coaster (the piece that suitably featured Central Park, where they had their first "official" date) down. Usually, it would hold a cup of coffee or tea that he'd set there with twice as much sugar than what he could stomach, but sweet enough for Kurt's liking and with an extra splash of cream as well. It was a ratio that was hard to forget. But he also knew it was merely a tidbit of information that would soon be stored away in the recesses of his mind as nothing more than a nostalgic memento of their time spent together, only to wither away in the coming years from not putting it to good use.

To the left of the room next to the small kitchen was a rectangular table and chair set, illuminated only minutes ago by the weak flickers of light from the pair of candles that had since melted in their holders. The table was set for two, but the plates remained untouched; the wine still corked; the Italian seasoned pork chops, broccoli, and red roasted potatoes, cold.

Dave bowed his head, tempted to go over every _day_, every seemingly_ insignificant _(though, to him, significant) interaction he had with Kurt in the past week... Hell, _months._.. Just to pinpoint the exact moment that he managed to fuck up so badly.

Just as Dave was beginning to mull over any of his various screw up (such as accidentally deleting the season finale of _Project Runway_ from the DVR thinking Kurt already saw it) he heard the metallic scrape of a key sliding into the dead bolt. He held his breath in his lungs, not daring to look up as the lock clicked and the door swung open. He swallowed thickly as he clasped his hands tightly together to stop them from shaking just as the voice as crisp and light as that November's breeze rang out into the stillness of the apartment.

It took him everything not to smile. He _couldn't_. Not when he knew he wasn't the cause of the cheerful, sing-song lilt. His heart ached at the thought of someone else claiming that responsibility, that _privilege._ And on such an important date as well.

"I'm h-_Oh!_ Wow it's dark in here. Am I interrupting séance, David? You know Halloween was last week, right?" Dave heard Kurt chuckle to himself as he busied himself with shutting and locking the door. Dave still hadn't looked up. He was afraid what evidence he would find—the telltale signs that would present themselves and confirm his suspicions about where Kurt had been that evening. As Kurt stripped off the slate gray pea coat, Dave twisted the watch around his wrist.

_8:47... _He supposed it could be worse. Kurt easily could have returned in the morning, though he probably wanted to get it over with as quick and painlessly as possible. It was nothing Dave hadn't already gone through before, with Kurt and other boyfriends. Though nothing had compared to the pain that was Valentine's his senior year of high school. And even_ he_ had somehow managed to get through that.

"David...?" Kurt asked softly this time, the amicable tone gone and replaced with worry at the sight of his undoubtedly grim features. "What's going on? What happened?" Kurt still hadn't moved from beyond the frame of the front door, but in his peripheral vision he thought he saw Kurt wringing his hands together.

"You tell me," Dave spoke. His voice was weak and pathetic sounding in his own ears.

"Tell you...? Tell you what?" Dave heard the gentle slap of Kurt's arms falling down at his sides in dismay. He supposed he would have to spell it out for him.

"That you're breaking up with me." He offered. "Or his name for starters." Finally Dave looked up and he hated how his watery eyes betrayed him. It didn't help that Kurt looked stunning, as usual, dressed in a rust-colored waistcoat (of his own creation), navy wool tie, white and blue pinstriped button-down, cream-colored slacks, and brown Doc Martens. His face, however, was molded into a look of horror.

"Name...? Whose...?" Dave watched as Kurt gave him the look of someone putting together a rather complicated puzzle. It didn't take long before he gaped, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, like he finally realized one of the key pieces to the puzzle was missing.

"You thought I was seeing someone behind your back," he ground out, "and that I'd choose today, of all days, to do that?" Kurt shook his head with an air of disappointment and let out a scoff. Dave sat up a little straighter in his chair, unimpressed with Kurt's reaction.

"Well, I told you this morning that I had something special planned for the two of us, and that was two hours ago. So just... Tell me," he said dejectedly, his chin falling forward once more.

"I thought you meant in general, not that I had a freaking curfew and needed to be home by a certain hour," Kurt ranted hysterically, throwing his hands up in frustration from where he stood at the front of the room. "Besides, I can't do that," he added firmly, though Dave thought he heard a slight waver in his voice despite the strength and composure emanating from him.

"Why not?" Dave murmured. He was too tired to be argumentative; too despondent and still _way_ too in love with the man to yell at him to just get it over with. None of his previous breakups had been this… _Tedious_ and drawn out.

"Because there isn't..." Dave watched as Kurt's expression morphed from a look of indignation, to revelation, and finally complete and utter sadness what seemed like a second.

Dave had to look away at the last one.

"Oh, David..."

A sigh. Then silence. Then _footsteps._

Dave sat there, waiting for it—any sort of reaction in response to his accusation of unfaithfulness. An angry shake. _Something._

But it never came.

Once Kurt loomed over him, the only response Dave received was the comforting touch of a pair of arms enveloping his shoulders, the sharp, upturned nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck, and the faint tickle of hair against his stubbly cheek.

"Kurt, what..." His voice came out muffled from his face being pressed against Kurt's shoulder, and he futilely attempted to pull away from the embrace.

_What was going on?_

"Don't..." Kurt said weakly as he tightened his grip, and this time Dave was certain of the noticeable crack in his voice. "Just stop." It sounded more like a plea than an order.

Dave didn't realize just how tightly wound he was before Kurt's embrace. The man's touch was like a salve and he could feel himself relaxing. It was like his muscles were unraveling, stiff from anticipation, worry, and the inevitable that he feared so much. It was impossible not to let go, so, with a shudder of breath, he clutched at Kurt's waist and nuzzled his face in the taut flesh and muscle and bone concealed beneath the multiple layers of fabric.

Slowly, Kurt disentangled himself, but didn't move away. He stood there with Dave's face buried in the soft, waistcoat material. Dave could feel the erratic thud of his heart return to its normal pace at the soothing touch of Kurt's fingers brushing through the hair at the top of his head. His touch was reassuring and his hand drifted down to stroke the hair near his temple.

"I thought you would realize that even if there was someone else—which there _isn't_—I would respect you enough to break up with you _before_ screwing around with some other guy," Kurt said taking a step back.

"Kurt…" Dave rasped. Already his fingers itched to grasp at him, to hold any part of his being once more.

But that still didn't explain what caused him to be more than two hours late.

"But then why are you..." Dave dragged out, beginning to voice his concern as his eyes followed the slim line that was Kurt's body. He found Kurt slipping his hand into his coat pocket. Out of it he pulled a box. Dave panicked for a moment, thinking it contained a ring, but then he realized it was much too cumbersome and, well, _cardboard_, to contain a ring.

Was that... _Chocolates_?

"Late." Dave finished lamely after Kurt gave the box a little shake. Dave could hear its contents rustling inside. He gave Dave a stern and knowing look.

"You know... These were a bitch to find. I had to go to New Jersey to get them. Not to mention _See's _wanting to get rid of their leftover Halloween treats. I practically had to threaten the cashier that I would jump over the counter if she didn't give me these. But as I can recall... The butterscotch one's are your favorite, right?"

Dave opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't begin to voice what he wanted to say. But it didn't matter as Kurt continued in a pained voice.

"I'm not _him_, you know."

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><p><strong><em>Don't forget to review! You're opinion matters to me!<em>**


	2. Chapter One: The Season

**A/N: **This story was written for _Kurtofsky Halloween 2014._ This chapter is based on the prompt from Day 25: _Moment Killer_ and _Grim._

Not all chapters are going to be this long, but it's the first chapter and there's necessary backstory. I think by now I'm known for my cliffhangers, and I promise to be nice while writing this story. No unnecessary cliffhangers if I can help it.

Anyways... Enjoy!

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><p><strong>The First of Many<strong>

Chapter One

_The Season_

oOo

_One for the season in which the story's told..._

oOo

It was in the second to last week of September that Kurt Hummel found himself with his face pressed against the window, not unlike a puppy on its way to the vet. He supposed he should be happy that wasn't the case—that no unmentionable parts of him were about to be clipped. However, he already felt as though he lost something exceedingly special to him, like a bird that lost its ability to fly because, in actuality, he was despondently counting the mile markers on his way back to Lima.

In a blink of an eye, he watched as the Hudson River morphed into miles of patchy, yellowing grass as far as his eyes could see. Towering skyscrapers transformed into a scant smattering of trees, with leaves speckled with the faintest traces of crimson and gold. Much like the changing of the season when everything dies, Kurt, too, felt like a crucial piece of him died as well. With each mile, he became that much closer to replacing his beloved new life with his old, and it was as his father crossed the state lines from Pennsylvania into Ohio that he realized he hit a new low.

Kurt thought quitting Vogue, breaking up with his fiancé, and dropping out of NYADA was the definition of rock bottom, but sadly, _no_… It was as he was sitting passenger-side his father in his old SUV, his belongings in the trunk and back seats, and all of his dreams abandoned in New York, that he realized he was officially a Lima Loser.

Because here he was: Back in the same cruddy cow-town he grew up in and vowed to never return to—at least for an extended period. Returning to the town that shaped him as a human being in a way that could only be described as reverse psychology. He dreamt, for years, of leaving this boring place and its narrow-minded people and never looking back. All his dreaming had proved futile, Kurt discovered. He had tried and failed and now it seemed statistically more likely that he would become an astronaut and fly into outer space if he ever wanted to leave this awful town.

That's right… He, the ever-so-talented Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, never made it in New York. And it wasn't because he didn't have the drive or the aforementioned talent; it was because he screwed up. Somewhere along the road to living the life he always dreamed, he lost himself. In fact, as he stared at his reflection in the glass, he wasn't exactly sure who he was looking at anymore.

Kurt never fully realized how much he changed over the years just to please his boyfriend. _Don't try to stand out too much, don't try so hard, don't speak up_-pretty much _don't be yourself_. Not that there weren't any aspects of him that he had changed for the better. Since officially breaking his relationship off with his first boyfriend, his first _love_, he found that looking in the mirror was like looking at a stranger. There was once a time he likened himself to the complexity of a rum chocolate soufflé. What _happened_ to that person? He had unconsciously resigned himself to become a cookie-cutter cut out of Blaine's choosing and of a flavor he couldn't stand. Over the years he had changed into simple, bland oatmeal next to Blaine's chocolate chip. It was depressing, to say the least, because who could stand out next to that?

He always prided himself for his ambition. He wanted to go places. His bucket list, more than 100 items long, could account for that. While crossing out many of the items proved far less likely now that he wasn't living in New York, he still planned on crossing off as many as he could in his life (and at least having relations with a Mr. Lautner was looking more and more possible now that he was unattached).

There was once a time when he wouldn't let anybody stop him from getting what he wanted (save for the one time he conceded defeat to one Rachel Berry, but only because he put his dad above everything else). Rather than achieving his carefully constructed dream of one day becoming a Broadway performer or fashion mogul, he let a man… _no_… a silly little _boy_ with a Napoleon complex bring that dream crashing to the ground like some rickety old set design from a retired Broadway play.

Leave it to him to believe he was destined to spend the rest of his life with his first boyfriend. He was such a cliché.

They were both so naïve thinking they could make their relationship, let alone a marriage, work. They weren't even 21 years old yet on the day of the proposal. And Blaine! Still in high school and living in another state! As if that in itself wasn't a recipe for a disaster.

The stress from a combination of school and work, running a band, Blaine's waywardness in the form of cheating, the constant hovering and jealousy... It was all too much. How was he ever going to achieve success when he was constantly at Blaine's beck and call, reassuring him that, _no_, he wasn't being wooed by his band mate, or coworkers, or classmates, or the barista who took his coffee order every morning?

So that was that. In a nutshell, he snapped and called the whole thing off, explaining heatedly to Blaine that if he couldn't trust _him_, when he wasn't the unfaithful one in the first place, then what did that say about the man who actually had the gall to cheat?

Either way it didn't matter. The two of them didn't mesh, Kurt realized—never had. Even Blaine, surprisingly enough, said it eloquently himself once upon a time—he "zigged" when Blaine expected him to "zag".

Striving for the same goals also meant competing with one another and sacrificing the love and support they were supposed to feel for one another to impress Madam Tibideaux. It was impossible when they were always attempting to outdo the other.

And then came the guilt.

Blaine had been the first to drop out. His grades, from what he heard through the grapevine after Blaine packed up his belongings and left the loft, began to steadily decline. Kurt supposed he didn't take the breakup too well because not long after Blaine moved out of the apartment he shared with Rachel and Santana, he stopped coming to class, and eventually there were a slew of comments on his Facebook dashboard from the boys at Dalton claiming that the Warbler King was back in Ohio.

And that really should have been it, but Kurt had a dilemma: he always prided himself in being an empathetic person. It wasn't that he didn't care about Blaine—it would have been a million times easier if he felt no connection to the man. But Blaine was his first boyfriend; his first love. They had a history, so it was only natural for him to be affected by the break up. It would have been easy to hide his turmoil if he was like any other college student. He could have buried his head in a book, or drowned his sorrows with his good friend Captain Morgan, but no… He was a performer, first and foremost, and the lack of sleep and the worry was all evident in his performances; evident to Madame Tibideaux, who thought he was more serious about attending one of the top performing arts schools in the country than his two friends.

Kurt sighed and his breath fogged up car window. Neither he nor Blaine made it in New York, but at least he could live vicariously through his three best friends, two of whom were in Los Angeles and the other still in New York. One being Mercedes Jones, his gorgeous diva friend extraordinaire who was probably performing in a coffee shop, bar, or fancy club just waiting for the right person to walk through the doors and offer her a record deal. Santana was still living in the Bushwick apartment. He felt guilty about leaving her, but it all seemed to work out in the end. Brittany had graduated and moved in with her. The two were now studying dance and Kurt wouldn't be surprised if they became backup dancers for Beyoncé one day. And then there was the indomitable Rachel Berry, who left NYADA to go to LA after being offered a lead role in a television pilot.

Speaking of Rachel, he found it odd that he hadn't heard from her in the past two weeks. Usually she texted him every night, sending him pictures of sun-drenched California; palm trees swaying in the breeze or Instagram pics of whatever scrumptious vegan cuisine she could find.

Much of the ride back to Ohio had been quiet. Kurt, for once, was thankful for his dad's John Mellencamp CDs to occupy the silence in what otherwise would have been an awkward ten hours. It wasn't that he wasn't looking forward to spending time with his dad again, but he wasn't in the mood to talk and didn't have much to say either. Every rest stop they would switch seats to get some rest after the grueling packing and leaving before seven in the morning. Kurt had only woken up just half an hour ago after a brief dozing session to see that they were, finally, almost home.

If he could call it that.

As his dad pulled up to a stoplight a few miles from their house, Kurt slid his phone out from his pocket, hoping to see a text from Rachel possibly explaining how she was far too busy at the moment memorizing lines, or shooting scenes, to talk to the normal people. It would be a very Rachel Berry thing to say.

He did have a text, he discovered after swiping his screen and seeing the little red number "one" above his messages folder. But it wasn't from Rachel, though. It was from a person he hadn't seen in months, whose phone number he had long since deleted. But as it turned out, the number didn't need a name attached in order for him to know the correspondent. Not nearly enough time had passed for him to wipe from his memory those ten digits belonging to none other than Blaine Anderson.

Kurt stared at the words on his screen as he mentally cursed himself for updating his location on his Facebook page after crossing the state lines.

'Are you really in Ohio?'

His mouth was set in a frown as he scanned the words repeatedly. It was impossible not to over-analyze the question. He supposed that was one of the shortcomings when it came to texting. The question could easily be one of innocent inquisitiveness. "_Was_ he in Ohio?" Well, _obviously_… But Kurt also couldn't help but lend a jeering tone to the words as he read them once more: "Are you _really_ in Ohio? _Really?"_

Kurt's fingers hovered over the keypad. He had half a mind to tell Blaine to fuck off and that if he wanted to be pestered he would have stayed in a relationship with him. But then, just a few minutes after the first text and as if Kurt had taken too long to respond, a second text arrived.

'It's Blaine, by the way. In case you deleted my number.'

Even as annoyed as he was, Kurt couldn't help the small twinge of guilt he felt at the truth behind Blaine's words. With a sigh and a grumble knowing he would probably regret this, he typed out a brief response.

'_Yeah, I'm in Ohio.'_ Kurt chose to ignore the second text and pressed send before he could change his mind. Before he could put his phone back in his pocket, it buzzed in his hands. He could almost feel his dad's eyes darting towards him in curiosity as he fiddled with the _skip track_ button on the radio.

'Are you staying? Or…?'

Kurt ground his teeth together as he punched the keypad with forceful thumbs. What business was it of Blaine's to ask why he was back in Ohio. He could be visiting his family for all he knew. Though that _would_ be odd considering he returned on a Sunday and Blaine would have suspected he needed to be in school by tomorrow. If Blaine assumed he was still in school.

'_To be determined,' _he typed out._ 'Why?'_

"Gonna be home pretty soon," said the gruff voice of his dad beside him. Kurt almost forgot he was there.

Kurt looked up after he sent the second reply. He couldn't help but shrink into his seat slightly, like he was caught doing something wrong. Burt Hummel's eyes were back on the road, however, accelerating once the stoplight changed to green.

"Carole said she was planning on making her famous pot roast."

"That sounds great," Kurt said distractedly, feeling the incoming text. Before he could even open the first message, a second message followed.

'_I was going to ask if we could meet up some time. Just to talk.'_

'_I don't like how I left things in New York. You deserved an explanation.'_

Kurt, whose stomach was rumbling only seconds ago at his dad's mention of dinner, felt as though the organ had leapt into his throat. Blaine wanted to talk to him. To meet up with him. To _see_ him again.

Kurt closed his eyes as he clutched the device in his hands as he tried to think the situation through. He was over Blaine and really didn't care about an explanation that was too little, too late. Blaine could have sent a message to him over Facebook easily, or even called him on the phone. But what if Blaine expected him to not answer, hang up, or see a message from him and delete it immediately? Well, it wasn't like he tried in the five months since he last saw him. The other question was what Blaine meant by an explanation. Explanation to what? To why he left without saying goodbye like the bratty teenager that he was? To why he was so neurotic and such a helicopter boyfriend when they were together?

Kurt made up his mind as soon as he saw his dad pulling up to the familiar façade that was the exterior of the Hudson-Hummel house.

_'I broke up with you, Blaine. An explanation would have been a moot point.'_

"Home sweet home," Burt said as he put the car in park along the sidewalk. There was no room on the driveway as his truck was parked next to Carole's Honda Civic.

"Yeah, I guess," Kurt sighed, giving his dad a melancholy smile. He couldn't meet his dad's hopeful, olive-green eyes. The thought of home had for a long time been synonymous with bright city lights, his boxy studio apartment, his two girls' constant bickering, and the sounds of cars honking from the streets below. He loved his dad and Carole dearly, but ever since Finn…

Going into that house, even a year after his passing, made the ever-present ache of having to lose his brother feel like someone had ripped the scab off a wound that would never heal. It was only made worse when he knew he wouldn't be able to hear his snoring coming from the room next to his.

"You're enthusiasm about moving back in with your folks touches me," Burt said, interrupting Kurt's morose reverie. "C'mon, Bud, what's going on? You hardly said five words the entire trip."

"I think I'm just tired from the move," Kurt said trying to assure him. "I promise I'll be more talkative tomorrow."

Burt raised his eyebrows, scrutinizing his son. Kurt knew he didn't buy it, but thankfully his dad accepted his answer and changed the subject.

"Well, at least you don't have to sleep on that rickety thing you called a bed," Burt grunted disapprovingly as he took the car keys out of the ignition.

"Yeah," Kurt concurred, actually delighted as he thought about his soft and sturdy queen-sized bed, luxuriously thick comforter, and multiple pillows waiting for him inside the house.

The two of them unbuckled their seat belts. As Burt reached to open his door handle he paused, letting his hand drop.

"Kurt, I know what you're thinkin'."

He had already opened the door and had one foot on the pavement. At the weariness and hesitancy in his dad's voice, he felt conflicted. Part of him wanted to get out of the car and go upstairs to sleep without having to deal with being confronted with his own emotions, but the other part of him knew his dad was the only person he could trust enough to talk about his troubles with. So he decided on the latter and slid back in the car and shut the door.

"Do you really?" Kurt asked dubiously and with just the slightest hint of aggravation.

"Yeah, I do," Burt said simply. "I know you planned all these wild and crazy dreams for yourself. I was here every step of the way watching as you dreamed of becoming an actor, or a singer, or some fancy designer. Hell, I remember the day you told me you wanted to be a ballerina."

Kurt rolled his eyes. As horrible a mood he was in, he couldn't help but chuckle.

"But let me tell you something. Just because a few of your plans fell through don't make you a failure, alright?" Kurt bristled slightly. He knew his dad wasn't calling him a failure, but hearing the words made him realize just how far away he was at accomplishing his goals.

"No, Dad," Kurt sneered. "Because if I had tried and _then_ failed I would have been a failure, right? But not me. I quit before I had the chance."

"And you'll have other chances," Burt said soothingly.

"In Ohio? Dad, there's nothing for me here," Kurt impressed upon him.

"Your family's here, Kurt. And listen, after Finn…" Burt took a deep breath, and Kurt looked away. After all the months that had gone by it was still too painful for the two of them to talk about. "The least you can do is stay here with the people who love and support you while you figure out your next step, alright? You're only 21. You act like your twenties aren't made for figuring this stuff out."

"And then what?" Kurt asked softly. When he looked up, it was because hoped his dad had some sort indication about what his next step could be.

"And then you can go back to New York, or wherever it is you want to go. And I'll help you. It's just too expensive renting a place in New York when you're trying to find a job."

"I _had_ a job," Kurt said wistfully. The job at the diner wasn't great, but it had been better than nothing. He had friends there at least. He was pretty sure he didn't have any friends here in Lima anymore. What with the Class of 2014 graduating, he was certain they all had gone their separate ways to different schools—all off accomplishing their own dreams.

"And an internship," Kurt continued, thinking of all the wonderful opportunities he lost out on. Only students were allowed internships at Vogue, and since he wasn't attending NYADA anymore… "And then I screwed everything up."

"Things will turn around Kurt. For the better. At least trust me on that."

Kurt inhaled deeply. He didn't think his dad was necessarily _right_ (though he usually was), but he could at least trust that his life couldn't get any worse. He would just take some time off. Maybe find a job and save up some money so he could apply to other schools. This wasn't the end of the line for him. He had gone through much worse.

"Why don't you come in and we'll unload everything later. Carole's gonna need help with dinner. You don't know how excited she is to see you again."

Kurt smiled genuinely this time at the thought of receiving a big warm hug and copious servings of delicious food from his step-mother. But first he decided he needed to take care of one last thing.

"Yeah," Kurt agreed with his dad. "I'll be inside in just a second, okay?"

Burt gave him a questioning look, but nodded—probably just content to see that he had lifted his son's spirit somewhat. Once he shut the door and made his way up the driveway to the front steps, Kurt pulled out his phone and found the last thread of messages he had sent Blaine. Blaine hadn't replied to his last message.

_'Fine, where do you want to meet? The Lima Bean?'_

After he sent the message, he opened the car door to stretch his legs as he out the side as he waited for a reply. Maybe he was making a mistake by trying to make amends with Blaine, but maybe forgiveness would bring him better fortune to his new life in Lima once again. He remembered all the good times he and Blaine had before they started dating. They were good friends, at that time, and maybe that was how they should have stayed.

A new text came in fast enough that Kurt had to wonder if Blaine even bothered to put his phone down after receiving the last text Kurt sent to him.

'Do you think we could go to Scandals instead? I moved. It's a bit closer to me.'

Kurt grimaced. The last thing he wanted was to go to _Scandals_, of all places. But as far as locations go, both _Scandals_ and _The Lima Bean_ held memories for them both. He supposed he could do for a drink after his first week back in Ohio. He knew he was going to need one by the time he completely finished unpacking, thereby sealing his fate as a resident of the Hudson-Hummel household once more. So before getting out of the car, he sent one last text.

_'I'll be there at 8:30 on Friday. If you're more than 10 minutes late I'm leaving.'_

He knew there was no intelligent reason to agree to meet Blaine, but he was far from being a coward. He was going to be the bigger person and face his ex-fiancé for the first time in months and discuss whatever it was he wanted to discuss with his chin held high. If Blaine wanted to salvage what was left of their friendship, he would certainly have to work for it. Blaine had crossed the line far too many times with his jealousy and intrusiveness when they were still in a relationship together. He wasn't going to live with the regret of ending his first relationship—whether Blaine inviting him was intended to be a guilt trip or not. Breaking up with Blaine didn't mean he was trying to punish him, it meant he was no longer punishing himself. He deserved better.

His future might have looked bleak, but he was going to go to that bar and look fabulous as usual. He was going to turn every head if he could help it, and he had all week to unpack as well as go through his closet of old clothes—or plan a shopping trip—to find the perfect ensemble to do so.

* * *

><p>The week passed in a blur for Kurt and he had trouble containing his excitement as he pulled up to a packed <em>Scandals<em> parking lot fifteen minutes earlier than when he promised to meet Blaine. His week had been a busy one and he could use a drink—and preferred to get started before Blaine arrived. In the few days that he had been back in Lima, he had caught up with his dad and Carole, sent out his application to _The Lima Bean,_ his old place of work (it wasn't his ideal place to work, but it was a start), cleaned his old bedroom, which had become quite dusty in the months since he last slept in there, sorted the clothes in his closet (creating a pile of clothes that no longer fit him to donate to the _GoodWill _a couple miles east of where he lived), and went shopping at the Lima Mall when he couldn't find a suitable top to wear with his black, skin-tight pants. He wanted to look his best if he wanted to make a point that he was single and ready to mingle.

He nibbled his lip anxiously as he checked his coif in the rear view mirror one more time before getting out of his car.

Kurt somehow managed to find an empty parking spot near the front of the building, so he wouldn't have to trudge through the gravelly parking lot and risk scuffing his shiny black boots. He guessed it was customary for _Scandals _to be this busy for a Friday night, and it only made him all the more hopeful that Blaine would walk in on him talking to an attractive gentleman. Not that he intended on hooking up with someone that night, but he wasn't about to rule that possibility out either. When he hopped out of the car he could already hear the music spilling from the building. The thumping of a monotonous beat reverberated beyond the front doors, making _Scandals _seem more like a club that night rather than a tiny and unusually dank bar.

Before stepping on the curb of the sidewalk that led to the entrance, Kurt smoothed his new shirt down. His hair had also been close to perfection, which meant he didn't need to access the hair care kit he kept under the back seat for emergencies. Kurt then locked the door with the hand remote and strode towards the entrance.

Kurt's chest ballooned with a customary rush of excitement as he pushed open the double doors to the bar. His sight was immediately overwhelmed by the flashing multicolored lights and the cluster of bodies writhing before him. It would have been nearly impossible to hear the man at the door checking IDs, but Kurt already had his out and handed it to the graying, bearded man. He handed it back to Kurt after examining it with an approving nod. It was strange to think that the last time he was here he needed a fake ID to get in. The time really did fly.

As Kurt waded through the crowd, he replaced his wallet in his back pocket and smiled coyly as a result of the looks he received as he made his way to the back of the room. He could guess there was about thirty or so people on the makeshift dance floor. In all honesty, he had been to crazier, more impressive clubs in New York, but considering the size of the bar it was just as intimidating, and not to mention flattering, to have that many eyes on him. He was well aware he looked pretty irresistible in his new long sleeve top. The two thin layers of fabric, white underneath and sheer black netting on top, clung to his torso, and as a special touch his black scarf with white skulls was wrapped around his neck. It was the first week of fall after all and there was already a chill in the air. The bar, however, was borderline humid from the number of people crammed in there, exerting themselves as they danced to the 80s tunes playing over the speaker system. Even the bar was almost completely occupied by a wide variety of men practically shoulder to shoulder as they talked happily, flirted, and ordered their drinks. Though the top he was wearing was breathable, Kurt figured he could always use the scarf to his benefit as a prop rather than an accessory on the dance floor if he became a little_ too_ hot.

Somehow, Kurt managed to find a small opening at the bar and squeezed in between a man in his late forties, judging by his silver hair cut close to his scalp, and a man with deliciously broad shoulders that stretched the well-fitted red, white, and blue flannel he was wearing.

Kurt sighed as he leaned his elbow against the bar to look down to the left end where one bartender was busy at the cash register and the other was making drinks. Kurt tapped the surface with a finger idly. The older gentleman had his back to him and was caught up in conversation with someone on his other side, but the man on his right must have been feeling the same irritation of having to wait to order a drink as he did. From his shoulder Kurt barely heard the man talking to himself, grumbling just loudly enough for Kurt to hear him in between the beats in the music.

"Whose dick do you have to suck to get a fucking drink around here...?"

Kurt chuckled under his breath. The man must have been here longer than him, which meant Kurt probably didn't have any hope of getting himself a drink any time soon.

"Seriously, I..." Turning towards the man Kurt had started to respond, but then he stopped. The funny quip that had been on his tongue dissolved into reticence. He inhaled sharply, gaping like a fish out of water, and his face fell slack with utter disbelief. It was a good thing he didn't have a drink in his hand yet. If he did, he knew it would have slipped from his grasp. _That_ or he would have choked on it, because he never thought he would see the day he'd hear _the_ Dave Karofsky making jokes about sucking someone off.

Or see him at _all_, for that matter.

"David?" Kurt tilted his head as he stared at the man's profile, trying to make out his features despite the sporadic flicker of lights dancing in his eyes. There was no mistaking him for anyone else now that he was able to get a good look at him. Not with those expressive eyebrows. The flashing lights had made it nearly impossible to recognize him with a mere fleeting glance, and it didn't help that Dave looked like he skipped a day or two of shaving.

_Actually..._

_'Scratch that,'_ Kurt thought. The five o'clock shadow helped... A _lot_. Kurt couldn't help but lick his lips and rake his eyes hungrily over Dave's form before he could comprehend what he was doing or who he was checking out. He looked the same in shape and form, but the flannel shirt, that had replaced the polo shirts or letterman jacket he was so accustomed to seeing him wear, did him wonders. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the fabric nearly straining at the joint, and he had the first couple of buttons popped open revealing, almost regrettably, a clean white t-shirt underneath.

He felt his face smolder in embarrassment as a pair of inquisitive eyes met his and then expanded almost comically. Dave made to take what looked like an intrinsic step back (to _run_? Kurt wasn't sure…), but quickly realized he was blocked. So the two of them resorted to standing there, chest to chest with barely enough room between them to fit another person; dumbstruck, if not panicked.

"Kurt?" Dave practically rasped. His eyebrows furrowed, like he couldn't be sure if what he was seeing was real or some sort of fever dream brought on by the climbing temperature of the establishment. "Oh f- Wow. Um... Hi."

A tight smile appeared on Dave's face, but didn't quite reach his eyes. It was obviously forced. Even his voice, which sounded pleasantly surprised, took on a frantic edge. Kurt chose to ignore this. It wasn't like he wasn't just as surprised to see Dave after... Two years?

_'Wow...'_ Kurt thought to himself as he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had actually let two years pass without trying to get in contact with Dave, let alone thinking about him. He felt a cold wave of regret wash over him. Is that why Dave looked ready to bolt for the door? Because the last thing Dave wanted was to see him again?

He couldn't blame him.

"Hi," Kurt responded fretfully. What was he supposed to say to a person who he last spoke to when they were in a hospital bed after attempting suicide? He felt ill. As thrilled as he was to see that Dave was alive and well, he was more prepared to see Blaine, strangely enough, than he was stumbling upon Dave. He could make as many justifications to Blaine about why he broke up with him, but there was not one single excuse that could come to mind as to why blowing off Dave was okay. It wasn't okay. In fact, he felt like the biggest asshole on the planet, and just realizing this now only corroborated that realization.

"It's uh..." The phony, uneasy smile was beginning to slip from Dave's face, which resolved him to staring at Kurt fixedly. Every other second however, Kurt could see Dave's eyes flickering over his shoulder. "It's been..."

"Forever?" Kurt supplanted regretfully and Dave's eyes softened somewhat.

"Yeah, a little bit," Dave chuckled without a hint of malice. "What are you doing here? Not that I… You know… Aren't happy to see you, I mean. I just..." he paused, glancing at the other end of the bar once more. "Wasn't expecting to run into you here," Dave added quickly, as if afraid he insulted Kurt.

_'Yeah, like you have anything to feel guilty about,'_ Kurt thought ruefully.

"Well, likewise..." Kurt practically shouted, having to speak up as the music changed. He recognized the group immediately as _Soft Cell_. As far as 80s music went, the song was one of his favorites, but he wished that it was less noisy so that he could actually converse with Dave without his voice going hoarse. Though it didn't hurt that Dave was leaning towards him, and the cologne he was wearing smelled far more pleasant than the conglomeration of sweaty dancing patrons and stale beer. Actually, it was strange... Kurt was almost certain that was the same cologne that Blaine always wore.

"It's kind of a long-"

Quite suddenly, Kurt was cut off as someone brushed past him, jostling him against the bar. Kurt noticed that the look of panic returned to Dave's features. Ready to give an eloquent verbal beat down, Kurt started to twist towards the impolite person who hadn't bothered to apologize for bumping into him. Then his eyes, narrowed into slits, became glued to a person a few inches shorter than him with jet black hair, plastered down with at least two handfuls of gel, who set one of two drinks in hand in front of Dave. Finally, he observed in horror as the pair of lips belonging to his ex-fiancé brushed against Dave's scruffy cheek, having missed Dave's mouth as the other man squirmed away.

"Here you go, Yo..." Kurt stood there shell-shocked and shaking in rage. He never once considered himself capable of feeling such disgust at seeing a display of affection between two men—but then again, most men weren't his ex-fiancé, who he hadn't seen in five months, and his former bully, who had confessed his love for him two years earlier.

"...gi," Blaine froze, realizing their third wheel. His lips were still puckered against the thin air as Dave had completely turned towards the bar away from Blaine in mortification. As Dave held his head in his hands (whether it was because of the nickname or the blatant public display of affection by none other the man-child he once shoved against a chain link fence), Kurt understood why Dave was so nervous when he was talking to him.

"Oh," Blaine said in a nonplussed tone. He looked at Kurt, then to Dave who was rubbing his face like he could think of no other place he would loathe to be at more than that bar. Did Blaine really not notice him talking to Dave? Did he have such huge blinders on that he didn't recognize the back of the head (or ass) of the man he was in a relationship with for three years. "You're early."

Kurt's lip trembled slightly as he felt a blistering ball of fury growing in his chest. He was _early_? That was all that Blaine had to say. Not _"oh Kurt, I didn't notice you there as I attempted to make out with the guy I could only refer to as 'Karofsky' just a few short months ago"_ or_ "Kurt, how does it feel knowing that I would choose to ambush you with this information on the very week you returned from New York because I couldn't care less about your feelings"_.

He couldn't believe this was the man fell in love with in high school—the one who he nearly vowed to spend the rest of his life with. As much as he wanted to cry with the relief that he managed to get out of that relationship while he still had the chance, there was still the issue of Blaine, who now had practically thrust his hand into Dave's.

So this was the explanation Blaine had planned for him.

"Tell me Blaine," Kurt said dangerously soft, staring at the hands interlinked before him. Dave, who finally looked up at the sound of Kurt's threatening voice, quickly pried his hand from Blaine's grip. "When am I ever not punctual?"

Blaine's mouth twitched weakly, as if in disbelief about how neither Kurt nor Dave seemed to approve of his method of springing the identity of his new boyfriend on Kurt; like he had expected an array of congratulatory fanfare with balloons and confetti; maybe a hug from Kurt and a long line of questions about their love life. Kurt shook his head barely able to contain his anger.

"No, tell me... I mean," Kurt chortled, his shrillness sounding a bit frightening even over the music. "We only dated for three years. Perhaps you could answer that question?"

Kurt crossed his arms, tapping his foot as he stared at Blaine and his dumbstruck expression. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been, thinking that Blaine's attempt at meeting up had been anything less than innocent. He played right into Blaine's manipulative behavior once more. It was almost as bad as when he had discovered that Blaine was still talking to Sebastian Smythe via Skype even after he explicitly asked him not to. Only this time, it wasn't out of rebellion or excitement. This could only be out of pure and utter spite.

"So you have nothing to say to me after asking me to meet you here? No?" Kurt, despite Blaine's sudden ability to keep his mouth shut for once, was grateful at least for the guilty look on Dave's face. "Oh, yeah… That's right. I forgot you only think about yourself."

Then, as if straight out of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde production, Kurt's face morphed into a look of repulsion to delight. Delight at finally being able to get his buried feelings towards Blaine off his chest.

"I see my presence here is no longer required," Kurt cocked his head. "Thank you for wasting my time, once again, Blaine."

"And Dave?" Kurt smiled sweetly at Dave. "Good luck with this one. You're going to need it." And then Kurt turned on the spot, heading straight for the door. The people dancing practically jumped out of the way to let him pass. The lyrics that played as he exited the bar echoed in his head, even after he pushed through the double doors and into the cold, unforgiving fall breeze outside.

_"Once I ran to you, now I'll run from you..."_

* * *

><p>"I'm not him, you know."<p>

Dave stared at his boyfriend incredulously. Kurt had uttered the words despondently as he hugged the box of butterscotch squares close to his body and tucked his chin against his chest.

Dave let those words surround him. How could Kurt possibly think he would begin to compare to him to his ex. _Their_ ex…

_Oh_...

"In case you forgot: You weren't the only person who was hurt by him," Kurt pointed out, confirming the thought Dave had only just realized himself.

God, he was an asshole.

He had completely forgotten. How could he have forgotten? He wasn't the only person who had suffered at the hands of one Blaine Anderson. They had both been victims of infidelity, and by the same person. And to accuse Kurt, the love of his life, of all people, for the same awful deed… He should have known better. Shame flooded his chest, and blood pooled at his cheeks.

Dave sat mutely, stewing in his own disgrace as Kurt meandered to the kitchen, lacking the usual bounce in his step. He could sense the disappointment in the lissome body without even looking at Kurt. From his periphery, Dave observed Kurt as he slid the chocolates on the counter gently before turning around and leaning his back against it.

"You..." Dave said, finally speaking up. His face was slack in disbelief at the idea that Kurt would go through all that trouble for just a box of chocolates. For him. "Goddammit, Kurt," he muttered under his breath as he buried his face in his hands.

"Well, that's lovely..." Kurt aimed at him from the kitchen, having caught Dave's utterance of frustration. Dave looked up to see Kurt picking at an invisible piece of lint on his vest so that he, in all likelihood, didn't have to look at Dave. "I'm so glad you like your gift, David."

Dave gawked at Kurt's pursed lips. He was so accustomed to all of Kurt's little quirks and mannerisms. After all these months of living together it as was hard not to be. And in this moment he knew Kurt was trying his best not to cry in front of him.

God, he really was an asshole.

_'Good fucking job, Dave. Really. Well done. Boyfriend of the year,'_ Dave thought angrily to himself, and not because of Kurt's interpretation of his response, but because of his own misgivings; his own insecurities.

Dave practically leapt from his chair at this revelation and strode purposefully to the kitchen; as short a distance as it was. He stood toe to toe with Kurt but didn't dare touch him—not yet. Because Dave knew Kurt—knew all of his idiosyncrasies. And now he stood there with his head adamantly pointed away from him towards the wall, slouched against the counter top with his arms crossed defensively in front of him—a visible barrier. He was trying to keep him out now. He didn't want to be hurt or insulted anymore than he already had. And Dave didn't blame him.

Dave knew it was time for some damage control considering he pretty much screwed up their entire evening. He realized how fucking ridiculous he had been. If only he had just called Kurt and asked him where he was; all of this could have been avoided. But no, he wanted to surprise Kurt and not give anything away about the dinner he had planned for the two of them. After all, it was Kurt who usually did the cooking. But he had to be the one to fuck it all up and accuse Kurt of cheating on him when he knew—should know by now—that Kurt would never do something like that to hurt him.

He needed to fix this.

* * *

><p>Kurt was shaking by the time he made it to his car. He would have expected it to be a result of the cold permeating his thin top, but no. It was from the complete betrayal by someone who he thought he used to trust—who wouldn't stoop so low as to shove his new found relationship in his face. And Kurt wanted to believe that him dating Dave Karofsky had nothing to do with it, but the realization was like salt in an already deep wound.<p>

It took Kurt a few seconds to get the car door unlocked. His fingers trembled around the small handheld key chain remote and he accidentally pressed the lock button instead of the unlock. But finally he found himself in his vehicle and he shut the door, silencing the song that he could still hear even in the parking lot, taunting him.

_"...cannot stand the way you tease. I love you though you hurt me so."_

Kurt laughed wetly as he rested his head against the steering wheel. He knew coming here was an awful idea, and even more ironic was how he felt like he was going to puke despite not having a single drink. He didn't know what he had expected from Blaine, but he should have ruled out a pleasant conversation. This was the same guy who sang about him being "unfaithful" to an audience of his friends when Blaine found out he was texting that guy Chandler he met at the music store. Blaine was nothing but vindictive and selfish, whether he was aware of it or honed up to it or not. This was merely one more infraction to add to the long list of his screw ups.

As Kurt sat there, trying to control his breathing and clear away his tear-filled eyes, he heard a gentle rapping on the window of his car. He wasn't in the mood for this, and without bothering to lift his head buried in his arm, he shouted, though he doubted the visitor could even hear him.

"Go. _Away_." It came out muffled, but it still felt nice to yell and get some of his frustrations out, but the person was insistent when it came to getting his attention.

_Ratat-tat._

_'Are you fucking serious right now?'_

Kurt held up a rather satisfying and hopefully well-aimed middle finger towards the passenger-side window. That still wasn't enough to deter the person knocking, and he hoped for whoever's sake that he didn't see a pair of dark, triangular eyebrows beyond the glass when he looked up, unless Blaine was in the mood for a castration.

When Kurt finally swiveled his head sharply, he was taken aback by the red and blue plaid pattern he could see through the window. The slight hint of the beefy arms he could see looked like they were shoved into the person's pockets as he swayed slightly on the spot, like they were trying to move around to keep warm.

"What do you want?" Kurt groaned exasperatedly, though demanding. He had to hand it to Dave, not many people would dare confront him after storming out from the way he did. Not unless they had a death wish.

"I just want to talk," said the slightly deadened voice from beyond the confines of the car. Kurt snorted, considering that was the exact same thing Blaine had said in his text message, and look where that got him. Dave ducked slightly so Kurt could see his face—full of concern—through the glass. "Please let me in, Kurt."

Kurt couldn't help but narrow his eyes suspiciously at Dave. What if, like Blaine, he had an ulterior motive? What if they had been in on this together?

"Why?" Kurt probed, his voice unforgiving as he sat up a little straighter in his seat. Dave didn't even flinch.

"Because it's fucking cold."

Kurt had to resist rolling his eyes at Dave's unaffected expression and surprisingly truthful answer. So, feeling generous considering the circumstances, he felt for the unlock button on the side of the door, his eyes never leaving Dave's.

Dave raised a quizzical eyebrow at Kurt when he heard the click and saw the nub pop up showing the door was unlocked. Slowly, and much like someone trying not to startle a rather skittish cat, Dave pulled open the door and slid in the seat next to Kurt. Kurt had taken up staring out his window. Why he didn't just drive away when he had the chance was beyond him.

"Thank you." The voice that spoke from beside him was surprisingly grateful, but then... "Jesus fucking Christ, you can at least turn the heater on."

Kurt whipped his head around so fast he was surprised he didn't hear it snap, and he glowered intimidatingly at the husky man sitting beside him. Dave shrunk back slightly at Kurt's glare and held his hands up in surrender.

"Right..." he mumbled under his breath." Your car. Not mine. Sorry."

Kurt continued to stare at Dave expectantly with his lips pursed until he concluded that he wasn't a threat. So he shook his head, wondering how he found himself in such a predicament as he resumed staring out the window his chin resting on his knuckles. He was watching the exit, almost expecting Blaine to come running—for his _boyfriend._

"So... How long has the happy couple been together?" Kurt grumbled, not daring to look at Dave. He was still having trouble processing the visual Blaine had provided him inside the bar—his little public display of affection. He wondered if it had been deliberate or something he always did.

Kurt could count on one hand the number times Blaine had kissed _him_ in public.

"Since June." Kurt's elbow slipped from where it was resting on the window ledge of the door. He nearly bumped his head at Dave's full disclosure. He didn't know why he expected Dave to dismiss their relationship, and he couldn't decide if his honesty was even better. Kurt studied Dave inquisitively from where he sat in his seat. The man had his fingers interlaced on top of his lap, and was staring down at them intently. Dave must have felt Kurt's eyes on him though, because he chanced a glance at him.

"I see," Kurt said quietly, his face set into stone. Dave moved his hands, rubbing them on the fabric of his jeans, probably to soak up any sweat. Kurt closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the head rest like it would help him remember why he deserved to feel his resentment towards Dave—towards both of them.

"Kurt..." The single syllable that escaped Dave's lips—his name—was full of remorse. He almost felt bad for Dave.

"Why?" Kurt asked before Dave could continue what he was going to say. If he even _was _going to say anything else—to attempt to explain why he thought dating his ex, after their history, was an okay thing to do.

"Why what?" Dave asked with confusion apparent in his voice.

"_Why what_?" Kurt echoed incredulously. He laughed bitterly in disbelief. "Why would you _do _this to me? After _everything?_ I thought..." Kurt swallowed thickly as he took a deep breath, unable to continue the sentence without sounding like a complete hypocrite.

_'I thought you were different.'_

Dave probably thought Kurt had changed too, though. Changed enough to help him through the difficult time he was in at the end of their senior year. Kurt couldn't help the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that this was some sick kind of karmic retribution. Like... None of this would have happened had he kept his promise to help Dave. Maybe then he wouldn't have stooped so low as to date his ex.

"Did you think it would be funny?" Kurt asked seriously, before breaking out into a sarcastic, mocking laugh. "_'Haha, come on Blaine, let's kick Kurt while he's down,_' right?" He shook his head at Dave, the expression on his face betraying disgust at Dave's treachery.

"Kurt, I have _no_ idea what you're talking about," Dave said earnestly as he leaned forward in his seat slightly. "I mean, I knew you were together long ago-"

"Long ago? Try two months before you two hooked up, apparently."

"Okay, right," Dave conceded in discomfiture. "That sounds really bad when you put it that way. But you have to believe me when I say I had no idea you were going to be here tonight. Hell, I didn't even think you were still in Ohio," he added steadily; imploringly.

"I'm not _still_ in Ohio," Kurt corrected Dave quickly in an exasperated huff. "I was in New York a week ago, now I'm just—You know what? Nevermind. It doesn't matter. You're trying to tell me this wasn't payback?"

"Payback? For what?" Dave asked, like he was clearly missing something.

Kurt nibbled his bottom lip before turning his attention to his peeling steering wheel cover, picking at the rubber that had become weathered over the years.

"I don't know... For breaking up with Blaine," he said feeling suddenly shy. Maybe the two of them weren't in cahoots as much as he thought. And then he continued in a far more hushed tone, "Not keeping my promise to you."

Dave said nothing and Kurt hazarded a look at the man who looked like he was wracking his brains for some important detail, some tidbit from a long forgotten conversation that he might have missed.

"Don't play stupid, David," Kurt reprimanded causing Dave to narrow his eyes. Kurt maneuvered in his seat so that he sat with his right leg under him so that he could face Dave. "I told you that day in the hospital that I would help you. And I didn't."

Dave stared at Kurt like he had a second head.

"Kurt…" Dave started to say before moistening his lips in reflection, seeming to try to choose his words carefully. It also looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh. His eyes twinkled slightly. Kurt could feel himself growing steadily more pissed off.

"You really are into the theatrics, huh," Dave said almost fondly. "Listen, I don't agree with the way Blaine decided to spring this on you. It was shitty, but—I think maybe he thought this would be the easiest way to do it. I knew you wouldn't be okay with this—us being together. In the beginning I was hesitant about starting a relationship with him. But he assured me that the two of you had broken up and that, as far as he knew, you were still in New York and that you weren't even talking to him anymore."

They are both quiet for a moment. It pained Kurt to admit it, especially now, but Dave had matured—and not just in appearance—since the last time he saw him. He studied him carefully, looking for any signs of insincerity, even a hint that he could be stretching the truth, but he found none.

"So you didn't know I was going to be here tonight?" Kurt asked quietly. He just needed to be certain. He could be mad at Blaine all he wanted, but he didn't want to be mad at Dave if he could help it.

"No," Dave said firmly, and Kurt took in a steadying breath. He nodded, believing him.

"Okay…" he said with a sense of finality—that their issue was dealt with for the time being—but Dave wasn't done.

"Can I ask you something, though?" Dave adjusted in his seat so that he mirrored Kurt. He gulped, as though he was asking the question out of necessity rather than curiosity—like he would rather be ignorant of Kurt's answer. "And I completely understand if you don't want to answer."

"What is it?" Kurt tilted his head to the side inquisitively. At first Kurt thought Dave was fiddling with his fingers, but then he realized that Dave seemed to have a habit (nervous habit?) of picking at the skin around his thumbs. He hadn't spoken yet, despite his mouth hanging open wordlessly. Kurt didn't know what it was about Dave that made him want to reach out and take his hand like the day in the hospital, but if it would save Dave's nails and cuticles then he had no problem with the contact. Silently, Kurt reached out and rested his hand on top of Dave's stilling them.

"You can ask me, it's fine," Kurt reassured him. Dave looked up questioningly at the gentle squeeze of Kurt's hand over his. Then, as Kurt pulled away, and Dave let his hands fall face down upon his knees once more.

"You said Blaine asked you to meet him here, but… You said yes?"

"Yeah...?" Kurt frowned, wondering what Dave was getting at.

"You... You don't have feelings for him still, do you?"

"What?" Kurt practically screeched, appalled. "No. _God_, no."

"I'm sorry," Dave grimaced, already seeming to regret the question due to Kurt's reaction. "It wasn't my place to ask." It took Kurt a moment to recover from Dave's assumption. _As if_ he could ever have feelings for Blaine after the way he treated him. He learned his lesson, and Blaine had more than enough chances. And tonight might as well have been his very last.

"Are you kidding," Kurt snorted once he finally felt his face return to its normal temperature. "For all you know, I could have come here to try to steal him back." Kurt smirked at Dave, feeling surprisingly light-hearted all of a sudden despite the night's events.

"But you wouldn't," Dave said calmly. Kurt chuckled, narrowing his eyes—playfully this time.

"What makes you so sure of that?" Kurt crossed his arms expectantly as he wiggled back in his seat, sitting up straighter like he was challenging Dave.

"Because I know you." Dave gave a little shrug. The way he stared at Kurt made him feel like he was an open book that Dave was simply flicking through. It was slightly disconcerting and he swallowed thickly at the way those brown eyes cloaked in shadow bore into his. "And you're far too noble for that."

Noble? Kurt wanted to laugh. Noble would be giving a shit about Dave's well-being and picking up the damn phone to check up on him. But at the same time he couldn't disagree. He wouldn't stoop so low as to try to steal someone away from a committed relationship. He wasn't like some people; he shuddered at the thought of Sebastian Smythe and how adamant he had been at trying to steal Blaine away from him.

No. While he wasn't ready to forgive Blaine for his actions, he wasn't about to put a wedge between Dave and Blaine's relationship, despite how much he wanted to get back at Blaine for all the hurt he put him through.

But that didn't mean he couldn't warn Dave about Blaine's duplicity, especially his proclivity to stray from relationships.

"Besides," Dave said interrupting Kurt's thoughts, "you seemed more upset with him than me. I thought maybe… You were upset about the fact that it's me he's seeing." He mentioned the last part timidly.

"Is that why you came to talk to me and not him?" Kurt wondered if he wasn't alone in being upset with Blaine for his inability to make decisions like a normal human being. Dave had decided to come after him rather than stay with Blaine. Blaine was always so in the spur of the moment—outing people at their place of work, trying to drunkenly have sex with people in the back of his car, deciding to invite his ex and his boyfriend to the bar on the same night. The list could go on and on. And he never could comprehend how those decisions hurt the ones around him. The fact that Blaine's initial reaction to him storming out wasn't to come after him spoke of Blaine's true nature—he expected Kurt to storm out, and he had no intention of ever coming after him.

"Yeah. I hoped you'd realize I've given you enough grief and wouldn't even consider doing something like this to piss you off."

"Yeah, I know you wouldn't," Kurt said with a reassuring smile. For the first time that night, Dave returned the expression, though shyly. And then, Kurt continued, "Blaine on the other hand..."

"I'll talk to him," Dave guaranteed him, cutting him off. "Just... Come back inside. Please? I'll buy you a drink and maybe we could work this all out."

The smile on Kurt's face didn't stay long.

No. No _way_ was he about to go in there after what Blaine did. If he wanted to right their friendship he would have come out here himself. And the idea of Dave and Blaine together was still too weird. What did the two of them have in common anyway besides an affinity towards cheap beer, apparently?

"Dave, I... I really can't do this right now," Kurt said with a shuddering breath. "I probably shouldn't have come here at all, really. I have an interview tomorrow morning and I have to get up early. I don't know what I was thinking coming here tonight." Dave slowly nodded, looking like he was trying to decide if Kurt was making up a story to avoid going back in the bar.

"No, don't worry about," Dave said understandingly as he started to feel for the door handle. "I should um... Probably get back inside."

"Right," Kurt said shortly, taking what Dave said as _'I should probably get back to Blaine.'_

His _boyfriend._

"Well... It was good seeing you, Kurt. And I'm sorry about all of this. Really," Dave said quietly before pulling open the door and lumbering out. Just as he was about to shut the door, Kurt stopped him.

"Hey, Dave," Kurt said leaning over towards the door so Dave could hear him.

"Yeah?" Dave said, holding on the edge of the door as he was about to shut it. He pulled it open again, just enough so that he could see Kurt's face.

Kurt took a deep breath, and then let out the air he was holding. He let his eyes flicker down and back up Dave's form. It was kind of amazing actually, being able to have a civilized conversation with Dave after so many years. He never would have contemplated Dave's ability to be a bigger man than Blaine. Oh, how the times had changed.

And even more amazing than that, and something Kurt had yet to truly dwell on that evening, was how Dave was alive and well.

He just hoped Blaine didn't change that.

"Just... Be _careful_, okay?" Kurt intoned weakly.

Dave gave him a look like he didn't exactly understand what he was implying. Dave probably didn't know half of what had happened between him and Blaine, and Kurt almost wished that when it came to the problems in their relationship that he was the common denominator, because he couldn't begin to wish their relationship problems on anybody let alone Dave. And that's why Kurt stayed quiet. He would leave it to Blaine to tell Dave everything he needed to know… For _now._

"Y-yeah," Dave stuttered, and Kurt wasn't sure if it was as a result of the cold air or his confused state. "I'll see you around, Kurt."

After Dave closed the door with a snap, Kurt couldn't help but let his eyes stay trained on Dave as he made his way back to the entrance. And that's when he saw him.

Blaine was standing there near the threshold of the bar with his stupid too-short pants with his ankles showing. Kurt hoped, rather childishly, that his ankles froze and that he regretted that poor fashion faux pas of his.

Kurt willed himself to look away as Dave reached Blaine because then he wouldn't have to witness the quiet moment between them. Away from the patrons in the bar and away from him, sitting pathetically in his car, alone, after having accomplished little that evening.

But he couldn't. It was like waiting for a train wreck about to happen. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the impending doom that was Dave thinking it was a wise idea to be in a relationship with Blaine.

Kurt watched as Blaine reached out and touched Dave's arm like it was something he always did. Kurt could barely make out, with the help from the neon sign above them, Blaine's mouth moving. He assumed Dave responded, but then Dave's arm found its way around Blaine. Kurt swallowed thickly, some unknown emotion tearing at his throat as Dave placed his hand against the small of Blaine's back as he led them inside without so much as a look back from either of them. It wasn't until the door swung shut behind them that Kurt let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

Kurt picked up his keys that he set in the cup holder between the passenger and driver's seat. While he sincerely hoped and really couldn't bring himself to care if that was the last he saw of Blaine for a long time, he knew, now more than anything, that he wasn't going to let Dave down this time.

As Kurt put the key in the ignition and started his car, he decided that, whether Blaine liked it or not, he was going to do all that he could to forge the friendship he once promised Dave. He knew that being in a relationship with Blaine only meant trouble in Dave's life. And maybe it would be different for those two, and somehow they were a better match than he and Blaine ever were, but Kurt couldn't bring himself to trust Blaine; not yet, and not after that little stunt of his.

As Kurt pulled away from the _Scandals_ parking lot, he decided that even if Dave and Blaine's relationship was the epitome of perfection, he wasn't going to let Dave down again. He was going to be there for Dave this time around, just in case.

* * *

><p><em><strong>As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged!<strong>_


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